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These are getting p smol. This one was also p speedy. So, be on the look out for typos.
And things that don't make sense in general.

CHAPTER FOUR

Neither of them understood why they had to dance. They could have just talked, appeared together, and avoided the uncomfortable partner proximity required by a waltz.

Except for the fact that they were encouraged, or, rather, ordered by the Fuhrer to do so. As a plus, the Mustang Unit had voted, cover or otherwise, that dancing was mandatory for the date to be both believable and legitimate.

So, they watched - and school-girl-giggled - while Mustang offered his hand to Hawkeye who gracefully played her part and floated onto the ballroom floor with her superior.

After that though, the group dispersed rather quickly, losing interest due to their bosses' inability to squirm under pressure. They were too good at their jobs.
It was a mission. Business as usual. They looked fine.

It was boring.

But, on the other side of the fence, both the General and his Lieutenant were at DEFCON 1. They may have been free from the team's teasing and inquires. But, now, they were alone.

Alone to try not to think about the other.
Alone to have nothing to talk about other than the filet.

"Dinner was good."
"Yes."

She nodded politely.
He spun her.

"And desert."
"Delightful."

Riza felt as if she could hurl.
Due to the motion and the crappy small talk.

But, at least the spinning allowed Hawkeye to sweep the perimeter casually while the close quarters reduced the probability of the General getting away from her long enough to do something stupid.

If there was a security threat,
she could shut it down in seconds.

But, it seemed that for the life of her she couldn't keep her cover up to par.
Roy Mustang had never been good at the waltz, but he was good at faking it.
His Lieutenant lacked such talent

She was stiff as a board, his hand resting on the small of her back.
They were too close. She shifted.

"Something wrong?"

"I just hate dresses," she lied, shifting again beneath the palm of his hand.

"Haven't you always?" he smiled at her, resisting the urge to put his forehead on hers. He really didn't want to, honest But, gravity was a force to be reckoned with.
It was gravity, right?

However, almost as always,
Roy Mustang prevailed.
For now.

"I have." She confirmed, surprised he remembered,
"But, I always wore them when I was young becau-"

"Your mother had liked them."

Hawkeye nodded. Their long history was sometimes comforting.
She finally could meet his eyes as he softly smiled at her.
She gave a beautiful, simple, and sweet smile in return.

That exchange.

That's when, suddenly and simultaneously, the two lost their game, their nerve, and all the confidence and ego either of them had left. That's when everything derailed.

And, it all started when Roy smirked arrogantly.

"See. Personal conversation." He lifted his eyebrows
and confronted her golden eyes with , "You're learning."

"Sir?"

"Most serious dates consist of such conversation."
Serious. Why did he say that?
Roy pushed through.

"Dinner, dancing, getting to know one another.
Nothing to be afraid of."
Afraid?
She wasn't afraid.
If she was afraid then she would have been actively pretending this "date" wasn't a "date" but a "mission" that ensured the "security" of the Brigadier General even during peacetime. Or something.

Wait a second.

"I told you, General. I've been on dates before."

Hawkeye furrowed her eyebrows, irritation growing, handling the ego patch job with a very different, very conflicting method than her superior.

"Yes, but not possibly with someone with such a sparkling reputation,"

What on earth did he mean by that?
Why on earth did he say that?

Hawkeye gritted her teeth.
"Very true, Sir."

They stopped spinning.
An overwhelming sense of dizziness fell upon her.
Now, she really thought she could hurl.

"Because, even by your own measure, this is not a date.
For I already know you all to well."

She took her hand from his.
He took her anger for envy.

Quite obviously, they weren't on the same page
as her blood boiled and his felt light.

"So, Lieutenant, you're jealous of those who have
the opportunity to actually step out with me?"

"Yes."
"Oh?" He obliviously grinned.
She viciously frowned.

Suddenly the rift appeared.

"I'm jealous of all the women who don't have to know
your personality as true as I am forced to."

The truth was out.
She wasn't simply committed to the cover.
She wasn't embarrassed or shy.

She just didn't want to be on the date.
Point blank.

Hawkeye's eyes widened instantaneously as she realized her tone,
her words. She stepped back immediately. This was not her.

"Sir, I-" she choked, then closed her eyes,
becoming no longer his date but his adjutant once more.

"It has occurred to me that I am not equipped for such a mission as this, Sir." She watched the floor. "If you will allow me, I will secure the perimeter for the rest of the night and ask Lieutenant Havoc to take over here."

Mission. She called it a mission.
Again.

"No," he said.

She looked up.
His normally warm eyes were stone.
The room felt suddenly cold.

"I grant you the evening off." He said, "I no longer need you."

After standing by his side for a lifetime,
Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye couldn't help but be hurt.

"Sir?"

"You are not enjoying yourself. You should leave." He said,
as if he was giving an order on the battlefield,

"Go home."

Riza felt as if she was falling backward. Suddenly, she wished he would reach out and catch her, place his hand on her back once more. But, she seemed to have burned a bridge with her oldest friend and her most trusted superior.

She swallowed, staring at him. His face softened in regret.
She didn't noticed. She just bowed out and said,

"Yes, Sir."

And he watched her as she left.

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